Yesterday's post was largely concerned with things I don't like, so today I thought I'd focus on something I do.

Wandering around Lincoln yesterday was a pleasure. When people have asked me about the place in the past I've always compared it to York. In its way, that's a good comparison, although it's nowhere near as crowded, probably because it's well off the beaten track and not within easy reach of places like Leeds the way York is.

I also think it beats York in some regards. In Lincoln, for example, the castle and the cathedral (both spectacular) are a longish climb up the accurately named Steep Hill, and a good distance from the main shopping precinct. That means you can stroll around either in the company of only those people who have made the effort to get there. Lincoln cathedral isn't full of bored chavs or lasses clattering around in heels with boutique bags, all sheltering from the rain - mind you, neither is York Minster now that the bastards charge a fiver for admission, but that's a different story.

The streets on top of the hill, centered on Bailgate, are the oldest in the city. These days they're full of small, expensive restaurants, designer shops and exclusive prep schools where the local middle classes can have their kids turned into braying pricks for three grand a term.

'Hang on Bill,' I hear you say. 'You're always telling us that Lincolnshire is a proletarian haven, a classless society insulated from the decadence and shallowness of the bourgeoisie. Prep schools don't sound very working class to me.'

Well, you're right. The fact is that the economy of the People's Republic of Greater Lincolnshire does depend on having a native chattering class, albeit a small one. We need the odd barrister or two, and the damage caused to the citizens' roads (and, occasionally, the citizens) by Yummy Mummies driving Jemima and Dominic to school in the Range Rover keeps the workers of the highways and health departments usefully employed. However, tough restrictions are in place to prevent the rest of the county being polluted by their nasty ballet-lesson-taking, Chablis-drinking habits. The middle class of Lincolnshire are only allowed on the hill in Lincoln. Their ghetto is delineated by the second lowest OS ten metre contour above the Witham. if they stray past this they're hunted down with dogs.

A couple of months ago I was on Bailgate in the pissing rain, so I dropped into a place called Café Zoot for a cup of tea. The lovely waitress brought me a lovely pot of tea with a lovely smile. Five minutes later, she brought me a lovely bill for three quid.

THREE QUID???? for a fucking cup of tea? The boss didn't seem to be around and the waitress was too lovely to argue with, so I paid. But THREE QUID? For a bag dunked in water? The place should be called Café It Zoots Us To Make A Fucking Killing By Egregiously Ripping Off Our Punters.